My Kind Of Love Version 1
by nefeli.soulbender
Summary: okay, I had an inspiration flash after watching a Why poverty campaign. Give this story a chance please... I think it's nice. So, it's based on Deidara and there will be another story like this one which ends differently. Watch out for My Kind Of Love Version 2.


**MY KIND OF LOVE **_**VERSION 1**_

A small skinny boy sat on a dark alley shivering from the cold. His long blond hair clang to his dirty face, just like the rags that at some point were called clothes, almost covered his body. The sky was crying for the boy again, causing him more problems. He was now cold and wet.

"I don't need pity." That's what the boy always thought.

Yet, when it came to people, he learned never to ask them for food or money. People; were strange and he was just a stranger. People were cruel and didn't care about a homeless, starving boy. The boy hugged his knees to his chest, embracing them with his skinny naked arms. He hang his head down, letting it rest between his knees and breathed slowly to warm himself up.

Deidara was his name; it meant God, but he felt more human than human. He felt alone, misunderstood, unlucky and that life was really unfair. Why would life give so much to some people and take more than she should from somebody who actually needed it? He never understood why. Was it him? Did he do something wrong? The thirteen year old sighed. Maybe it was his fault. He had killed his mother on birth and drove his father away, ending up on an orphanage, only to get abused by the warden. He shivered thinking about the warden. The beating he received from him still hurt, and there was still evidence all over his body, to back up these memories. That's why he left. Now, he was homeless and hungry, cold and lonely, as well as defenseless to the dangers and monsters

of this world.

The carbon box he lived in, was now soaked from the sky's tears. Rain… He always hated the rain. A constant reminder of his part; rainy and cold. He sometimes wished for death. He would welcome him if he came. But he never came to save him from his destiny. And in the end, why would death want him. Even his father didn't like him. He was an outcast, a murderer.

He never liked looking up, his head always downwards; everything about the sky. He hated looking around, at the people and with time, discovered that they too, hated his image. Who would love him? He sighed again and closed his eyes. When was he going to die? When would this person, people called God, save him? He decided that he hated God; that he never existed. That would be the reason why he never helped him.

His stomach growled and he tried to muffle the sound by hugging his legs closer to his weak frame. He always thought of himself as a tool; hunger wasn't new. He was used to be starved. The cold was helping by numbing the pain on his wounded, bloody, shoeless feet. Yes, he loved the cold.

He placed his hands on the roof of his 'house'. The box was melting from the rainfall that went on for two days now. The carton ripped apart and his shelter became soaked pieces that already started to decompose. The raindrops fell on his small body making a comforting layer of water form on him, like a blanket. Dirt and filth was smeared on his chubby face. The golden locks that cascaded that face, were now a dirty blond-brown. His pink full lips in a thin line as his life-drained, blue colored eyes shut once again, accepting their luck.

Slowly, he started thinking of whom he is, what is he doing here, why everybody ignored him? Why he felt like an outcast when he was human too. Why him? He wondered. Why did everybody treat him like nothing? Was he really nothing?

His eyes opened to welcome the coldness of the world. His arms tightened around his skinny legs. The rain had stopped and its place took the snow. So beautiful, the boy thought. As the snow hit the ground, it turned to water. He, himself was a snowflake, he decided. Made only to be unmade. Was he going to be unmade now? Was death finally ready to take him? Has he suffered enough for this 'God' to save him?

His stomach had stopped growling some minutes ago, or were they hours? He sighed, a big puff of smoke coming from his mouth. He watched as people passed by with thick coats around themselves. A cold breeze blow on Deidara's wet skin. He'd love a coat like that, warmth other than his own body heat. He needed some warmth, someone to care for him.

A small boy around his age ran in front of him, tripping and falling onto the cold ground. The boy started crying and soon a couple came rushing to his side. The man picked the boy up and the woman kissed the boy's cheek. The child smiled and hugged the man.

They walked away, probably to their house, because they were a family. Family… Deidara wished to have a family of his own. Sometimes he wondered what is less painful; to have a family and lose it or not having a family at all? At least he never had one. The snow had now stopped and so had the rain.

The blond reached inside his clothes and pulled out a rusty necklace. It was heart shaped with the words 'love' and 'peace' craved on it. It was all he had. If he sold it, nobody would buy it, it was made of cheap metal. He opened the heart in half with his trembling hands.

The one half held an old picture of a beautiful woman with long blond hair and green eyes. She was smiling and winking to the camera's lens, probably because she was happy.

The woman he killed…

The other half had a picture of a man with short messy brown hair and the bluest eyes contrasting on his tanned skin. He was trying to remain serious but you could see the smile tagging on his lips. He was a handsome man indeed.

The man he drove away…

He didn't hate the man, no. he would be upset too, if someone killed someone he cared for; he wouldn't want the killer with him. it was only logic. His eyes fell onto the picture of the woman again and he smiled. He wanted so badly to have his mother with him, to hold him when he cried, to care and protect him. he wanted his mother…

He closed the necklace and held it tightly with his hand onto his chest. He drew one last breath and whispered mostly to himself.

"I'm sorry dad, forgive me mom, Merry Christmas…"

THE END


End file.
